It is, of course, always feels good to be appreciated. Whether it is something monumental like a raise for excellent job performance or something sweet and innocent like a homemade Mother's Day card from your preschooler, it all feels really good to think, "They like me, they really like me." I have learned, however, that not all appreciation is welcomed and some, well, some is just downright creepy.
An example:
While at my recent residency for my MFA in Maine, I decided to save a few bucks and instead of staying at the Harraseeket, a five star luxury inn in Freeport, I stayed with my dear friend in the next town. Yes, it saved me a few dollars (okay, like $1000) but the added bonus was that I got to hang out with my BFF and her family. Two of these family members are my godchildren, ages 7 and 5. They are GORGEOUS, precocious, smart, funny, and chock-full-of-personality, and I consider myself blessed to have them in my life. I genuinely love these kids, and I know that they love me, their eccentric godmama with all that metal in her face. It's bliss.
On Saturday before residency was over, I stopped back to my host house to take a shower and change into something cute (and slightly revealing) before going to the fifth semester students' graduation and then graduation party. When I got out of the shower, I wrapped myself in my favorite bath towel, one of those big beach thingies that come all the way down past my knees. I left the bathroom to grab the clothes I had laid out when I noticed I was trailling a 5 and 7 yhear old.
"Are you going to take that towel off?" my 7 year old godson asked me.
At first, I laughed it off. "Of course I am. I'm just going to grab my clothes, bring them back to the bathroom, and finish getting ready." I thought the conversation would be over, but alas, it was not.
"I'm going to hide in the closet!" he informed me, giggling. "I'm going to watch you put on your underwear."
At this point, my 5 year old goddaughter grabbed the bra that was lying on a nearby chair and proceeded to put it on over her nightgown.
"My mom's boobs are WAY bigger," my godson informed me, "Way bigger."
I nodded and smiled because, well, they ARE way bigger.
I removed my bra from my goddaughter and continued to scoop up my clothes.
" You know, I've already seen your boobs, Rebecca," my godson told me. This stopped me in my tracks.
"Um, no, honey, you have not."
"Oh yes I have!" he said, gleeful.
In my head, I was going over all the time I've gotten dressed with them in the room when they were babies. Surely, surely it wasn't any time recently. Now I was a little bit nervous and embarrassed.
"No, no, you haven't." I hoped I wasn't lying.
"Oh yes I have!" he said again, "I saw your Facebook picture on my mom's computer."
Now, since God invented Facebook, I've used it to keep in touch with old friends, former colleagues, and former students, wish countless friends happy birthday when I forgot to send them cards, and recently, to reconnect (aka flirt) with a high school boyfriend, but I'm pretty damn sure I've never used FB to, um, display the girls.
I thought about the most recent FB profile pic taken in October at my annual Halloween party/Vampire Ball. My hair is slicked back, I have a ton of make up on, and am wearing a tight black and silver ball gown. And yes, it was pretty low cut and, yes, you can see a bit of cleavage. I wondered if that was what my young admirer was referring to.
"My Halloween picture, honey?" I asked. "I am fully dressed in that picture and you cannot see my boobs."
He just half-smiled and walked out the room, obviously bored by the fact that there would be no disrobing today. Before I left he called back, "...but I could see the tops of them."
Appreciation = good, right? But not when it's your 7 year old godson checking out your rack.
